Of Gnomes and Rogues
by Emerald Sands
Summary: [World of Warcraft, it's Lore characters, and locations owned by Blizzard. All primary or secondary characters in this story are created by myself to exist within this world.] Zibus Fizzcannon, Gnomish Rogue, and expert inventor, sets off on his quest of adventure, self-discovery, loss, and return. Join us in the world of Azeroth as he searches for his true calling.


The summer heat was felt more in Stranglethorn Vale than it was in most of the rest of Azeroth. The thick foliage from the trees kept most of the sun from hitting the trails, but couldn't keep the high humidity from sticking to everything it touched. Some claim that the trees themselves sweat in the heat, while others say it was caused by ancient Troll voodoo, inciting the world around you to spring to life on the hottest of days. Heat-induced hallucinations, perhaps, or was there more to it than that?

A young goblin woman, short of stature, darker-green of skin, with reddish hair made her way from the gaping maw that was the entrance of Booty Bay, the Goblin town in the Vale. She made her way north along the paths, knowing full well what lay off to either side. A shrill noise caught her attention and she turned to look to her left to see what appeared to be a young panther peeking from around a tree, mewling in pain. Not wanting to see it suffer, and knowing it would fetch a fair price at market, she ran toward the creature, only to see too late that it was not as it seemed.

The trap was expertly designed. Any creature within earshot would hear what they thought was an injured cub, an easy meal, and charge at it. Coming within a certain range would trigger a rather large trap used for hunting dragons in the old wars. On any account, something unnecessary in this land. As the woman approached to help the cub, the trap slammed shut around her midsection. She let out a fierce, bloodcurdling scream before a shot rang out, silencing the severed woman.

A large human male, around six and a half feet tall with long, black hair and one good, green eye, moves silently through the underbrush. Rifle in his left hand, the barrel still smoking, he approached and stood over the Goblin. He spat to the side, growling. "Dammit, that was a good trap, too. Now what am I gonna do with..." A wicked grin spread across his face, an idea formulating in his head. "Well, well. Thank you for supplying my bait, Greenie." He knelt down to recover the trap and corpse when he heard shouting in the distance. He cursed himself and disappeared into the jungle just as quickly and silently as he had appeared.

A group of four Booty Bay bruisers, riled by the screams, made their way toward where a scout had reported seeing a woman run off the side of the road not moments before. The four split up, scouring the area until one called out. "'Ey! Get over here! We got another one!" The group gathered up, frowning. One of them placed a hand on another's shoulder. "Betta tell the guys back at town. Dupree ain't gonna like this..."

The bruiser ran back toward Booty Bay, nearly tripping down the planks until he reached the main shop building, shouting, "Mista Dupree! Mista Dupree! I need ta talk whitcha!"

A goblin of average height for his people, with olive-colored skin and red hair, turned toward the Bruiser, a scowl on his face. "Whaddaya want? Make it fast, wouldja? I can't make coin with you gabberin' at me!" He grumbled lightly, finishing off a transaction with an Orcish woman, turning his attention back to the bruiser after he finished. "Well?! Out wit' it!"

The bruiser took a step back, swallowing hard. "I-it's ya sistah', sir! Sh-she was the latest... that we found in dem traps..."

Dupree's eyes widen, his face sinking in realization. "Tylix? Tylix is..." He roars in anger, tossing a few items onto the floor.. "Curse that damned poacher! He took away my only sistah!" His eyes go wider. "What's worse... Imagine the funerary costs!" He grabs a paper and pen, jotting down a note quickly. "Get dis in da mail, NOW! I got someone ta handle dis, but we gotta prepare a few things. People ain't gonna be happy 'bout it, neithah..."

The Bruiser nods, running off toward the mail carrier as he was preparing to leave. Dupree collapsed back into his chair with a sight, looking up at the ceiling. "I jus don' like that I gotta owe dat Fizzcanon no favors..."


End file.
